Bonded
by Ephemerale
Summary: After Malachor, when the rest of the crew has scattered and gone, only the Exile and a certain scoundrel remain. And the pair are bonded in a not so conventional way. 9th in the LSFexileXatton Moments series


"What happened?" the Exile murmured, sleepily rubbing at her eyes as she entered the cockpit. Moments before, the _Hawk_ had unexpectedly lurched out of hyperspace, causing Atton to be flung from the pilot's chair and into the console. He was now busily running his hands over said console, ignoring the blossoming bruise on his forehead in favor of determining what had happened to the ship.

At hearing the exile's approach, Atton glanced over his shoulder and smiled slightly to himself when he saw that Allia had come straight from bed, her hair mussed, clad only in his shirt and armed with nothing save a dagger strapped to her thigh. "Engine trouble, I'm guessing. I'll have to drop down to the engine room to know exactly what's wrong this time," he replied, pulling away from the console and stretching out his stiff muscles a little as he stood.

"Do you need any help?" Allia murmured, alert besides the sleep that still clouded her voice. Atton dropped a light kiss on the top of her head as he walked past her out of the cockpit, and he could feel the sudden wave of contentment roll over her at the action through their force bond.

It had been difficult, in the beginning, when they had left the rest of the crew to journey past the outer rim; there were no other force bonds to divert their attention from the one that was steadily strengthening between them. Over the course of their journey alone together, the bond had intensified to the point that it had become difficult to block each other out. More than once Allia had caught glimpses of his past- of other women, of deaths, of murder- through the bond, and he had caught glimpses of hers. It had been humiliating, at first.

When they had started sharing dreams, however, it had become terrifying. Despite the fact that he had changed, that he was no longer Jaq, the darkness still lingered in his soul. It was impossible to eradicate the dark side from someone who had spent so many years wielding it. It left its imprint on the mind and heart, an imprint that could ever be erased. And so one night, he had dreamed of the exile. In his dream she had been weak and scared, restrained on the blood-splattered table that he had used to break so many jedi, gazing up at him with tears and betrayal in her big blue eyes. And he had tortured her. Slowly, deliciously; bruising her, carving his name into her lovely skin, making her writhe and moan and bleed. And then, amidst her cries and her pleading of "No, please, please, stop!" he had taken her, had raped her with crushing, bruising force. And he had loved it.

When he woke, panting, still hard from the images of his subconscious, he felt the familiar wave of disgust wash over him. But what was worse was that Allia was curled into a small ball as far away from him as she could get on their narrow pallet, and he could sense the fear rolling off her. Her emotions had been too strong for her to be able to hide her thoughts from him then, and he could clearly see the images from his dream reflected in her mind. When he reached out to touch her, her skin had been cold and clammy, and she had flinched away and stared up at him with something akin to horror in her eyes.

"Is that really how you want it?" she had asked, and Atton had felt self revulsion overwhelm him. It was true that he had a darker appetite, that over the years he had participated in more than his fair share of rough sex and role play with the various joy girls throughout the galaxy. That he had even found excitement in rape. But the passion that he had found with the exile was different than anything he had experienced before; it fulfilled and satisfied him. And he had never, ever wanted her to see the appetites that he had in his former life. He had tried to comfort her, but she had shrunk away from his touch.

He had been so terrified to sleep after that night that he had kept himself awake via stims for three days before the exile had cornered him, hid his stash, and ordered him to lie down. She made love to him until they were both too exhausted to keep their eyes open, and when they finally slept Atton shared her dream of Malachor V. When she woke up, screaming, he had been there to soothe her. He had held her as she cried, had assured her that she was not a monster.

Now, the humiliation and fear that had accompanied the strengthening of their force bond had dissipated. Sure, there were still the embarrassing moments- like when she caught him fantasizing about a green skinned twi'lek in a dancer's outfit the other night- but for the most part they had learned to accept the lack of personal privacy as yet another dimension to their already strange relationship.

But the fact was that at some moments, like now- feeling her contentment in his arms- Atton was even grateful to the bizarre nature of the Force. "You can pass me my tools," Atton replied to her offer of assistance, and the woman rolled her eyes.

"You can trust me with more than that, you know," she responded dryly, which caused Atton to chuckle.

"And risk you short circuiting the power lines in the _Hawk _again?" he asked, remembering the last time he had taken her up on her offer to help him. Allia flushed as she crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance, and Atton lightly smacked her bottom as he stepped past her.

"Stick to working on the droids. I'll take care of the ship." He paused for a moment, and grinned. "And you," he added with a roughish wink, and Allia shook her head.

"Scoundrel," she muttered, but nevertheless followed him down the ladder to the engine room and pulled his tool bag off the shelf. Over their time alone together, Atton had made sure to teach her what the tools were and how they were used, but while brilliant in combat, she had proved inept when it came to a ship's machinery. He was almost grateful; as long as she couldn't repair the _Hawk_ herself, she couldn't get any bright ideas about dropping him off on some Republic planet before flying away.

"Eh, one of the fracking rings broke. We really need to put a new engine in this thing," he groused, wiping his greasy hands off on a dirty towel so that he could get a good grip on the tool that Allia was passing him. He glanced back at the exile as she handed it to him, and took in the fact that the shirt had fallen off one shoulder, and with the way it was laying he could see the curve of a pale breast. His mind immediately took him to several hours before when that breast had been bare and the exile had been panting beneath him.

"Insatiable," the exile murmured with a roll of her eyes, no doubt picking up on the memories and lust that he was broadcasting through their bond. But their bond had a funny way of causing them to feel one another's desires, and he noted that her cheeks were flushed and she had crossed her legs.

"You're one to talk, Sweets," he replied with a leer, and she lightly slapped him on the shoulder with a shake of her head, her cheeks growing warmer. For all the time they had spent together, the woman still got embarrassed over the smallest things. It was endearing in a way, and never ceased to amuse him.

"Just replace the kriffing ring so we can get back into hyperspace," she grumbled, and he laughed as he set about doing just that. He finished quickly, and when he wiped off his hands for the second time he noted that the exile's eyelids were heavy. He smiled slightly to himself as she yawned, and stepped close enough so that he could tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Come on, Sweets, let's get you back to bed. You can't fight Sith if you're dead on your feet," he murmured, and she leaned forwards and rested her head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh of contentment as she did so. With a smile on his face, he steered her to the ladder, running a hand up the long, creamy expanse of her thigh and up to cup her rear as she climbed out of the engine pit. He felt rather than saw her ire, and his grin widened as he followed her out.

"You go on to bed, I'll join you after I get us back into hyperspace," he said, and smiled again when he saw her rub her eyes and yawn. She nodded her head and gave him a little wave before she ran her fingers through her tousled, honey colored cloud of hair and padded back to their bunk. Atton watched her go, his gaze lingering on the subtle flexing of the muscles in her legs as she moved.

He could feel her amusement at his gaze through their bond, and then heard her voice inside his head. _If you get to back to our room before I fall asleep…_ His mind was then assaulted by a variety of colorful and extremely detailed images that sent his heard to pounding and blood to rush to his groin. Quickly, Atton set about getting to hyperspace, his hands flying over the console as he silently implored Allia to stay awake for just a little bit longer. He felt her amusement at the frenetic movements that he was apparently conveying through their bond, and grinned in response.

Within moments, a sudden lurch and the whirling lights of hyperspace out the window rewarded him for his efforts, and he took down through the halls, determined to hold a certain Jedi exile to her promises.


End file.
